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You put your hands in your pockets and whistle away.
Don't ask me how I know.
I just happen to ...
You wake up exactly at six in the morning every single day.
Don't ask me how I know.
I just happen to ...
You prefer tea to coffee and just know more way.
Don't ask me how I know.
I just happen to ...
I have invaded your dreams and intrigued you.
Don't ask me how I know.
That is how I know you.

My first tryst with prayer was mainly due to my gluttony. Yeah,you read it right ! A sin-laden virtuous beginning. As they say, it is the age of Kali.

I remember my father saying prayers in the puja room, scent of incense wafting in air, the little bell ringing and the beautiful peda(a sweet) served on tiny copper plates. Needless to say, I loved peda and that drove me to that room itself. Yes ! Temple bells fascinated me. It felt awesome to wake up someone from a nice siesta.

At school, we had prayers at the assembly, before classes and after classes too. I hear some schools have prayers before lunch break too. The words still remain etched in my mind. Serene. Pure. Just as I told them then. Without much understanding of course.

There came a phase in life where I stopped praying. I rationalized that there is no one to listen. So why waste time ? After all, one cannot be fooled all the time. I never was a big-time temple go…

They say old habits die hard. I guess it should be "Bad habits die hard".
I painstakingly wrote this blog in my early days, made a lot of new friends, revived old friendships, established a brand of writing , won accolades from fellow bloggers and one fine day .... suddenly there is nothing. No writing, no visitors and no inspiration to write.
A lot to crib about,right ?
But this ain't gonna happen anymore. Robin Sharma da promise ! I shall shamelessly write, share the links wherever I can and bask in glory once again. The attention seeker is back ! With a bang. Now that the sleeping lion has awoken, there are some promises to make.

This space will be updated everyday from now on. No matter how dead tired I am (of doing nothing worthwhile).

Eight minutes.I deserved eight
minutes of his time. A two day train
journey and two hours of bumpy ride. All this just to
tell him “Hi! I still do”. He was polite. Of
the three hours I spent at his lobby, the girl offered me coffee thrice. He said he was
tired. He thinks differently. Our lives are different. Children grow up.
They will anyway. He did not say
but I guess broken hearts mend too.

P.S. : This post was conceived and typed in 8 minutes. Hence the title. No relation with "Eleven Minutes" by Paulo Coelho.